


In A Murderous Embrace

by hanniithecannii



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gay, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannigram - Freeform, I dont know how to tag, I'll add tags and characters as I go along, M/M, Murder Husbands, POV Multiple, Plot, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03 Finale, Slow Burn, Will Loves Hannibal, Work In Progress, hanni and will keep thinking about each other, implicitly - Freeform, okay maybe not that implicitly, switching pov's, they survive the fall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-03 08:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10240157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanniithecannii/pseuds/hanniithecannii
Summary: Hannibal Lecter. His mind flashed abruptly back to the cliff, their bloodied limbs entangled in a murderous embrace, and he could feel the doctor's arms gripping his shirt; could smell him standing there in front of him, the salty smell of seaside mixing with the metallic tang of blood. A picture perfect frame, in the centre of which they stood, the heat of Hannibal's body, so reassuring against his, as he gripped onto his shoulder for support.And then, he pulled them over.It starts after the fall; Will wakes up in a house he's never seen before and Hannibal is gone. His memories are hazy and he's confused, but Hannibal has a plan and is already on his way to fulfilling it. While he is away, the murder hubbies have plenty of time to think about each other, until Hannibal returns and they can re-define their relationship all over again, as they have done so many times before.





	1. Clouded Memories

Will opened a heavy eyelid, weighed down with the exhaustion of the fight. His fuzzy mind slowly faded into a clearer conciousness, which elevated the throbbing in his head and he winced. Ignoring the slight tremor in his hand, he lifted it up to his forehead, where he felt a hot spot burning into his fevered skin. His hand returned swathed in sickly red liquid, producing a bright sheen in the light of the room as he twisted his palm left and right. He let out a shaky breath, and as he swallowed the mucus building up in his throat, he felt the skin on his face strain and pull, as though covered with clay. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, remembering.

It came to him in flashes, and though he saw himself in his recollection, it felt distant and disconnected. _He_ felt disconnected. Then, the fall. His mind was cold and closed to him; he could not relive what he knew to be true, nor could he remember the feelings associated with every moment of his Becoming. This was different from the criminal cases he studied relentlessly with Jack - murders belonging to others, not himself. Though confusion clouded his mind, he would not let it cloud his face. His features were set in stone; unreachable, unreadable.

Thinking of having killed side by side with Hannibal Lecter made his stomach turn cold. Then, slowly, a warmth began to grow inside him, filling him with a calm which he could not explain. Hannibal Lecter. His mind flashed abruptly back to the cliff, their bloodied limbs entangled in a murderous embrace, and he could feel the doctor's arms gripping his shirt; could smell him standing there in front of him, the salty smell of seaside mixing with the metallic tang of blood. A picture perfect frame, in the centre of which they stood, the heat of Hannibal's body, so reassuring against his, as he gripped onto his shoulder for support.  
And then, he pulled them over. 

* * *

Hannibal drove in a pleasant silence, alone in the car, yet feeling Will's presence with him, _in him_ , somehow. He glanced down at his phone, lying in the empty seat beside him and a warmth swept over him, at the thought of Graham. At the thought of his Becoming. It had been wonderful. A breathtaking display of his potential, his abilities - a finale so grand and elegant his eyes shone with the very memory of it. His attention returned to the road, eyes fixed on traffic, but his mind was elsewhere. His mind was with Graham.

* * *

Will found the bathroom equitted with neatly stacked towels and a freshly laundered bathrobe, still warm from the drying. Beside it, on a white marble shelf, a dozen small bottles labelled as appropriate were arranged in order of colour, going from a scarlet shampoo to a bright blue body wash. Will's lips curled into a half-smile subconciously. He knew Hannibal had taken the time to position everything so purposefully and neatly. Of course he would.

However, despite Lecter's admirable attempts at making the place more homely and familiar, it was far from so. Will had no idea where he was. He had never seen the house before. It was big, and spacious; much nicer than Will's ordinary little cottage, but unnerving all the same.

In all that had happened, Will found himself oddly calm. A peaceful feeling had occupied him since the moment he had awoken and he found himself wondering if he had been given something while out of sorts. He imagined that he should be panicked - he had just taken a life and very nearly ended his own, over the course of a couple minutes. Now, he didn't know where he was, and his partner in crime had disappeared. Will wondered if he had just imagined it all, but the memory of Lecter in his arms disspelled the thought almost immediately.

He pulled himself free of the dingy shirt sticking to his wet torso, twisting his arms free, noticing as a couple red flakes fell into the sink. He didn't have to ponder what they were. Pleasantly cool, a draft of air blew over him, skin still hot and burning feverishly. The warmth that he had felt when thinking of Hannibal now settled in his skull, causing it to throb and ache. Dismissive of the dull pain, Will moved until he was standing in front of the mirror. It was tall and wide, and positioned above the second basin, reflecting everything from the top of Will's head to just above his hips.

Will stared at himself for a long while, at the crimson flaking liquid obscuring his face like dried clay, at the patches of skin where his blood and Dolarhyde's were impossible to tell apart. His hands were stained with the life he had stolen from him.

When he tried to run his nimble fingers through the stiff black mess of his hair, they caught on dirt and blood, clotted in his locks like insects stuck in a spider's web. Bits of dark earthy material fell into the sink. Will looked again at the foreign man in the mirror. He did not recognise what he saw, or rather he recognised the reflection, but not as himself.

Turning the tap, he let the water run, scalding hot against his fingers, and washed Francis Dolarhyde from his face.


	2. Bluebeard's Wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! WARNING !  
>  This chapter involves one of the character forcing themselves to **throw up** , so don't read on if you're not comfortable with that - sorry.

Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier awoke from a shallow sleep, lifting the silk sleepingmask from over her eyes and resting it in her hair like a headband. Lifting her phone from the small, glass bedside table, she switched on the bright display screen, flinching from the light like a wounded animal. Her lockscreen showed 1:47 am. Bedelia tensed.

Ever since her trip to Italy and the time spent in Florence under Hannibal Lecter's direct influence, she had been wary and on edge - not so as to be called paranoid, but a certain level of paranoia clung to her in the night, when she was most vulnerable and her imagination was at its peak.

Now, the doctor rose, pulling back the soft covers and slowly lifting her legs over the edge of the bed. Her eyes fixed on the door to her bedroom, she swallowed her fear. The rim of the door was outlined in a dim yellow light. She struggled to remember if she had left it on before retiring to bed.

Cautiously, she climbed out of bed, feet touching the carpeted floor soundlessly as she pulled herself up. Bedelia felt her way through the dark until she felt her hands wrap around the back of a cushioned chair. Draped over it, lay her nightrobe. She pulled it around her and tied it at the front in a loose knot.

Her senses had been heightened; fear will do that. She listened carefully, imaginging she could hear creaking, footsteps. Instead, she heard nothing but her own shallow breathing. Against her better judgement, she stepped forward in the dark, feeling her feet sink into the soft floor. She made no sound, and on her tenth step, she was at the door. She felt around for the knob, and was relieved when her slender fingers curled around its familiar shape.

For a moment, she stood there, simply listening to her own heartbeat thumping hard against her chest until its pace declined, fading like footsteps into silence. Decidedly, she pulled open the door.

* * *

"Doctor Du Marier," Hannibal called, his accent colouring his words with tone and intimacy. "How wonderful to see you again."  
He watched in silent appreciation as Bedelia's eyes widened and a trembling hand flew to her open mouth, the other grasping hold of the banister of the stairs for support. Patiently, he listened to her choke on failed words, unable to surpress the sickly nausea welling up inside her.  
Hannibal stood up, smiling. "Now, Bedelia. There's no need for that." He stopped, reaching the bottom of the stairs. "I've come to make you dinner."

* * *

Will stepped out of the shower, grabbing a white cotton towel from the pile and wrapping it around him. His movements were slow and sluggish, the languid motion of his arms irritating him. His head ached. His whole body felt as though on fire, and he hastened to sit on the lowered toilet seat. He put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes until he could see bright shapes dancing over the inside of his lids.

When he pulled them away, his mind filled with thoughts of Hannibal instead. The likelihood of him having slipped him some noxious substance while unconcious was beginning to appeal more and more to Will and he did not like the idea of not knowing what was in his body. His eyes fluttered wearily down to the toilet. He stood and turned, dropping to his knees on the hard marble floor, facing the bowl. His hands gripped the sturdy seat either side, and he removed one from its position, shoving two fingers down his throat, instantly retching, then repeating. He did not stop until his fingers came out red and sticky with blood.

Graham stood up shakily and, leaning against the wall side-on, he flushed his mess down to the sewers. The toiet seat fell with a loud clang.

* * *

In the living room of her house, in Wolftrap Virginia, Bedelia Du Maurier sat in the seat of honour at the table. It was 5 am, but still dark outside, and the fog clouding her brain was clearing. She recalled the chiselled face and refined features, the dark semi-circle eyes glistening with a dangerous intent, and she swallowed hard. A switch flicked on in her head and she was fully awake, reliving the last moments before she had fallen unconcious. Between her descent of the stairs and now, was a vast emptiness - a discomforting gap in her memory. What had happened in the three hours following that, was beyond her.

She blinked a couple times and breathed in sharply. She was sitting down, but she could feel it without even having to move. She could feel the lack of weight beneath her hip on the left and the absence of a foot against her right, proving to her what she had meekly hoped was not the case. Readying herself, she looked down. She was met with the reality she had anticipated, yet nonetheless, her eyes pricked and stung with dull realisation.

Her left leg was gone. The stump, ending high up on her thigh, was wrapped carefully in an elegant green cloth, matching her lime dress, and was tied in a beautiful, neatly looping bow at the top. The clatter of pots from her kitchen cleared any doubt she may have harboured as for what was to come next. The question now, was how. When.

Dr. Du Maurier was quick, and her intellect was highly appraisable; it had won her well-paying jobs in the psychiatric circles she had worked in over the years, and her ability was unquestionable in her line of work. Her peers respected her, her patients thanked her. She had lived a successful life. For the most part.  
She knew Hannibal, and she knew he was persuasive, but also willing to listen to persuasion - if it suited him. She could put this off yet. She could win herself some time, if it suited him. If she could only figure out how to approach it, she had a chance. She closed her eyes, steadied her heart and, placing her hands over her lap, she began to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY about how bad this chapter is, but hopefully Hanni and Will are going to be reunited soon (possibly next chapter?). I accidentally made what might be considered one of Hannibal's cannibal puns when talking to Bedelia about making her dinner - it might not have been to obvious, but anywaysss I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


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